The Black's Chaser
by Rose G
Summary: Sequel to 'Son of the Stars.' The black colt is the horse Henry's been dreaming of. So why is Alec so reluctant to keep him?
1. Default Chapter

The Black's Chaser

Rose G

Disclaimer - Some of these characters are the property of Walter Farley, the new characters are mine, while most of the English settings and horses exist or are based on real people or horses.

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Dedicated to Ambrook Hollyhocks 'Holly' 1964-5.4.2002

Alec pursed his lips as he stood looking at the stocky black colt that Henry held. His dam, a young bay mare was looking back at him as if daring him to be rude about her first foal.

'Henry, why do you like that colt so much? He's heavy; heavier than Satan was when he arrived here, and he was only just fast enough for the six, seven furlongs. That one looks like he'll be too slow for the sprints and too heavy for the longer races. And with that build, he'll be four or five before he's full grown and miss all the classics.'

The white haired man shook his head sorrowfully. 'Look at him, Alec.' He gestured to the little colt. 'He was born on the night that Black died, the only foal born that night even though it was right in the middle of the foaling season. He's the first pure black we've had foaled since Black Minx - all Satan's line threw the white face and once we'd put Baby to Wintertime, we got a line with three white feet. Doesn't that count for anything at all?'

'Henry, you've always said that this is a business and you can't afford to be sentimental. He isn't the type we want, so let's sell him as an eventer or heavy hunter or something. He'll fetch good money because of his breeding.'

'I may be getting old, Alec but there's something special about this colt. And you, the boy who found the best stallion to come out of Arabia until they sent Dubai Millennium over here, in a shipwreck, won the Triple Crown with his son and the Derby with his daughter, you won't accept something like this? Don't you believe in anything special anymore, not in fate and dreams coming true?'

'No, Henry. I gave up on all that a long while ago. He's just another colt, nothing special.'

'Alec, don't you remember what it was like when he was born? Just before the Black died, and the sunlight was blazing down, then the stars come out for Black. Sun and stars go together, this colt and Black go together. You've got the Black's last gift to you there, Alec, and you can either keep him or sell him. It's up to you.'

Alec rubbed the mare's forehead with his right hand, waving to his son with the other. Tony was grooming his pony, hissing through his teeth as he did do and pulling faces at his dad. 'Have you named him yet, Henry? We can't sell him without a name.'

'He was named the day he was born, Alec. He's the Black all over again, and his name should show that. You see him and Tony there are the future, you and Black were the beginning and me and Satan built everything up. You name that colt and remember what I said.'

Alec frowned. 'Call him...call him... Black's Gift. Black's Gift, by Hellhound, out of Irkab Alwaha, by Barq. Will that do?' 

Henry nodded. 'Great.' He let the two day old colt go, smiling as he bolted across the paddock in a tangle of legs, fly bucking for all he was worth with Irkab Alwaha by his side. 'I'm going to help Tony sort his bit of the tack room out. He dropped a bran mash in there earlier.'

Alec felt his jaw drop. 'That son of mine's a menace. Why did he have a bran mash in the tack room anyway?'

'Apparently, he was going to throw it at his sister.' Henry laughed and walked off, an elderly figure now, bow legged with thinning snow-white hair but still with a ready laugh and endless ideas. Sarah joined him when they were nearly out of sight, and he had to smile at the sight of his wife.

His attention went back to the colt, Black's Gift, he reminded himself, as the little colt fell back to a trot, then began to badger his dam for milk. It had been in that field where Black had died and in that field, according to Henry where his successor now played. 'I don't know colt. Whatever Henry says, you've got to go. I can't afford to keep you anyway, even if you were fast enough.'

Across the stud farm, Henry said to Sarah 'Whatever Alec says, that colt has got to stay.'

Irkab Alwaha - Arabic, meaning 'Ride the Wind.'

Barq - Arabic, meaning 'Lightening' 


	2. Blood and Money

The Black's Chaser 2

A/N - The bloodlines mentioned in this story are all real English lines, well known for breeding chasers although American readers may not know them.

Alec pursed his lips, a faint frown creasing his face as he looked at Henry and Sarah. Down at the other end of the yard, Thomas was strapping his chestnut Welsh pony, hopefully unable to hear the whispered discussion that was taking place. 

'How the hell did the finances get in this state?' Alec growled, still looking at the bank statement that Henry had passed to him. 'I knew they were bad, but not like this.'

The old trainer shook his head mournfully; running one scarred hand down the arched neck of the colt who stood next to him. 'When we first came here Alec, we had two stallions and ten mares. The Black and Satan. A jet black Arabian who whipped America's finest on their own turf, and his son who came out of nowhere to win the Triple Crown. Eighty mares a year, ten of them ours and we were on easy street. Then we had Baby, and her foals helped, and old Red, with his Man O' War Stakes got the staying mares.'

'Now the Arabs have their own stock in training...Ship them in from Dubai or fly them from Kentucky for the big races. Goldophin, all the others. Their horses are closer to the desert strain than our are now so no-one will pay to use a colt from the Black who's forgotten that he ever smelt the desert wind and raced a sand storm. And we all thought that you could have figured that out. Only, you were too busy...'

Henry looked at Sarah, standing so close to the colt and Alec, who knew that over the past few years he had been getting too far away from he heart of things, riding whatever horses Henry entered, being a husband to Volence's daughter and a father to their son, coming to dislike the endless circuits of left-handed dirt tracks and the endless drumming of hooves, the flogging of tired horses because of the non-triers rule. 'Because Henry, I found out that there were better things. Maybe not for you, but for me.'

'And because you thought something else was better, you were prepared to do nothing, leaving me to run Hopeful Farm and hand a wreck over to your son? And you were prepared to sell a colt just because he doesn't look right, a colt I told you would be as good to the stud as Satan was, even though he can't go chasing here?'

Together, the three turned to look at Black's Gift, the stocky colt tossing his head in protest at the foal slip Henry had dropped over his ears while he was dozing. Alec assessed the colt quickly - nearly a month old, heavier than anything in Black's line had a right to be, with an almost roman nose and large ears, plenty of bone and a deep chest. A stayer, who was more relaxed and easy to do than any colt he'd ever met.

Henry rubbed the colt's nose. 'Don't worry, Alec, it's your yard, and although I think you should keep him, I'm not going to force you. Have him cut and send him over to Ireland, the Store Horse sales or one of the Lambourn markets. Or keep him entire for a while, see how he goes and put him in training over there. He's bred for it at any rate.'

Alec couldn't remember Jet's breeding on his dam's side; the sire's line went back to Satan, to the chestnut born under the eyes of an Arabic Lord in a desert storm, to the North Wind that Allah had taken and spoken to, giving it flight without wings, courage without enmity and changed into the first Arabian. 'How's he bred?'

It was Sarah who answered. 'The old girl's got a fancy name, but she was foaled down in Yorkshire. She's by Saddler's Wells, making her a half sister to Istabraq and One Man amongst others. Her dam was an Irish pointer by Green Desert, out of a half-bred mare who hunted most of her life and won the Foxhunter's at Cheltham. All the stamina in the world, more heart than you could ever find in a flat horse, added to Black's courage and speed.'

'And there's money in chasers at the moment, Alec. Take a dozen over to Ireland and you'll pay for the journey and knock a fair few bills on the head at the same time.'

Alec nodded, understanding that that was the most sympathy and help he'd get off of Henry and he looked over Hopeful Farm towards the headstone that was where Black lay, the paddock where Satan paced. So many dreams had started here, so many races won by foals that had staggered to their feet under his gaze. And now there was Jet, according to Henry, worthy focus of a new set of dreams even if they had to wait. 

Henry smiled, looking at Tom, who had come to stand beside Jet. Adding a few more years to both of them, this could have been Alec and Black in Flushing so many years ago. And maybe for the last time in his life, he had a horse to dream about, one to make plans about even if he had to hitch hike to the courses and watch another jockey ride. Black had saved the farm once. Now his great-grandson was going to have to do it again. 

Notes in case they're needed - 

Istabraq won three Champion Hurdles and 4 Irish ones

One Man won the King George 5th Chase and the Queen Mum Champion Chase

Saddlers Wells was an unsuccessful racer but champion sire in England 27 times

Green Desert a middle rank sire of chasers/ stayers/hunters including Green Green Desert

Foxhunters is the biggest race for pointers/ hunter chasers in England. 


End file.
